


Make Me a Somebody

by pontaii



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Ambiguous Age, Bad Decisions, Dark fic, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Dubious Consent, F/M, Grooming, Nervousness, Older Man/Younger Woman, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Underage Kissing, Unspecified Setting, but based more on the movies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:36:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27131242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pontaii/pseuds/pontaii
Summary: She’s experienced a lot new by the time Janson slows in caressing her and has mapped her form in his mind. Her curiosity from before is far more than satisfied and yet she still feels the tightness in her chest.
Relationships: Assistant Director Janson | Rat Man/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 4





	Make Me a Somebody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as per the obvious - I don't condone any of this in real life, and check the tags for anything that triggers you

It was late, far too late for Janson to usually work at this hour, but his computer screen for once had something interesting, almost intriguing, displayed on it. He had not been pleased at first when a group of WICKED’s armed scouts came back from their usual expeditions, not with their usual findings - found working factories, survivor camps, preservable food even - but with a bit more than a dozen hostages made up by teenagers.

He, of course, had to listen to how this had happened, for while WICKED’s facilities _could_ house these people, the city around WICKED could do it as well. While Janson at first only thought this as an annoyance as there was no need to bring survivors over if they were doing just fine in their camps, as a soldier explained the situation to him, it became more interesting by every word.

“We ran into one of these kids while going northwest through a forest patch. One of us hollered to get their attention. They– I remember it being one of the girls we got now– looked at us and didn’t speak for long even as we continued to speak. Thought she maybe didn’t understand English too well - she wasn’t in the most flattering clothes so we–”

“Get to the point,” as much as it was intriguing, it also sounded like the typical that could happen anywhere, and Janson wondered where this story got good even if for just the sake of the scouts.

“Yes, sir! It didn’t take long before the girl aimed a gun at us, fired and then ran. We followed and soon found a camp, though I don't know if and how well they had everything settled there as I didn’t have time to look around before all the guns those people had were shooting at us. We had to kill most of the adults as they sadly were a bit too experienced in their shooting to be tied down, but regarding the kids… Well, some came near willingly and some had to be knocked out by how furiously they fought, plus we didn't know if to leave them there…”

There were a lot of other details, but as Janson sat and overlooked the data on his screen, the small telltale sign this was worth investigating showed itself in how many of the kids were immune to the Flare.

WICKED still couldn't keep more than a dozen teens laying around - especially with most of them being either with lasting bodily harm, underweight and other things that would take time and their resources fixing - thus upon already putting time into this, the next step was to simply test their intelligence in those worth keeping.

Janson looked at the now compiled results from the few tests which the more willing teens had agreed to write. Most of the tests had focused on medical and even engineering knowledge, which was always in demand nowadays.

The first three highest results - and the only three WICKED had decided to officially take in, in exchange for their labor - belonged to two boys and one of the oldest girls from the surviving group. Frederick, Maxim and Kate, their test percentages, names and images flashed quite victoriously on the computer screen. Especially as the chosen teens had already been given rooms instead of the barracks the other teens still remained in.

Though what interested Janson more was the results of the fourth ranked person, a lanky girl named Abigail, coming short only of third place by a puny three percent. Unlucky, to fall out of selection only because of that. And it became near downright sad to make her leave with the less smarter kids, as after Abigail, the scores dropped by forty percent, setting her as a line between the smart and dumber ones.

If the decision to only take in three people wouldn't have already been made, she would have possibly been taken in as well.

It was a shame.

The longer Janson pondered this the more it seemed so. Of course, someone generally as smart would find no trouble finding work even if thrown out of WICKED without anything to go by, but just thinking that the other kids would mooch off her success made it an even bigger shame.

Her beauty would go to waste too, Janson compared the images of Kate and Abigail for the obvious conclusion to find the latter, younger girl more appealing. What a shame - he practically chanted these words now.

But his indecision did not last too long, his role as Assistant Director always let him pull some strings and this time he thought it would be possible too. He could definitely word it as letting potential go to waste as the girl was not dumb at all.

It was only a matter _if_ the girl would want this too, Janson mused how he didn’t feel like pushing someone into something they wouldn’t want. There’s still tomorrow, before the dumber kids would be moved out to the city, he thinks letting Abigail make the decision before then shouldn’t be _too_ harsh.

*

There is nothing left to do for Abigail but sit, cooped up in the dark barracks with all the other kids she knew as far as she could remember in her short life.

The kids that had protested to being taken into WICKED’s headquarters were simply not taken in, some outspoken onse were dissed out when their Flare immunity tests did not come bearing the good news - and now when Kate and the two last boys had moved away from the barracks the very same day they had the last of their written test, it was simply silent beyond a few murmurs.

Yet there’s a silent, ensuing argument going on between her female friends. Abigail doesn’t listen into it, having almost had a headache from how long her friends had been going on about the same things they can’t change.

_The door out of this room is locked. This place is full of guards. But leaving now, stealing something along the way is better than being thrown out empty handed._

This all is chanted by some girl in the argument, but Abigail has problems with the last part, and visibly it appears some have too.

WICKED is indeed a bad name choice for people that are trying to rid the world of the Flare, but Abigail still holds WICKED's intentions as true in her heart. That way, it isn't nerve wracking to sit here, it is simply boring.

In the end, Abigail muses, what happens will happen. Everyone here is now miles from home and their parents… are dead. Abigail is a bit sad about this, but she did not know her real father - as monogamy, as explained by her mother, is not the best practice in dire times, even if Abigail fancies the books in where the ending is a happy life between two fated people.

It’s also sad to think she’s been clearly outdone by the three previously said kids as they were given their own rooms. It’s enough to bring her from boredom to a more saddened disposition.

“We maybe can’t help any of this, but we can still settle this– Abigail, you’re with us, aren’t you?” Jean’s voice snaps at Abigail, clearly expectant and Abigail doesn't roll her eyes at her just because Jean is her closest friend from within all teenagers. 

“What did you ask?” It’s genuine, the curiosity peeking through once Abigail notices how most of the girls have moved closer to Jean. An invisible line is stretched in the space between the beds and further from Abigail sit a different bunch of girls, clearly on opposite sides of some opinion.

“What’s your opinion on WICKED?” Jean doesn’t explain any further, continues standing in the dark with her arms crossed.

Abigail shifts uncomfortably on her mattress, clenches her jaw in thought but her answer is straightforward, “WICKED is good.”

Jean’s crossed arms fall to her sides and Abigail clenches her jaw again, lifts her hands up apologetically but does not say anymore. Even in the dark she feels Jean’s gaze pierce her, urging her to reconsider and follow Jean in this too, can practically feel without looking as Jean furrows her eyebrows further and looks down on her.

“WICKED is going to throw us out any moment. Life is going to be hard now that we’re miles from home, but it’s going to be _harder_ if you don’t shed those optimism glasses and don’t work together,” Jean speaks and it’s almost like a threat.

It even seems like a challenge, in a way - _'Could you survive out there without WICKED?'_

Abigail stands and she’s a bit taller than Jean, no longer letting Jean look down on her. But the door to the barrack creeks and Abigail doesn’t have enough time to retort. Jean smiles, almost victorious as if this was the fated moment they'll all be thrown out and Jean will be right.

But no such announcement follows, the guard at the door doesn't even seem interested in any of them when he calls out, “Abigail, come with me.”

The plainless in the guard’s voice was enough for Jean to smile an even uglier smile at Abigail, in hopes of this ending badly for Abigail. That much the girl can sense when her friend raises her chin higher as Abigail turns to follow the guard. Her friend calls something out to her as the door closes, but Abigail doesn't listen.

Abigail follows the guard quietly as she’s led down the sterile corridors and sharp turns. Her heart beats a steady, yet nervous bet as she fiddles with her hands yet does not speak, having noticed in her stay the guards take better to her when she doesn’t talk.

She cannot tell if being pushed in through a door without an explanation, only noticing the plaque reading _A.D Janson_ on the near wall, and it being closed behind her is a good sign or not.

“Welcome Abigail, correct?” The greeting is immediate and pleasant, coming from the one Abigail quickly pieces together to be Janson. It doesn’t leave her to survey the room as quickly as she would, but stretching her response gives her time.

One of the four walls of the room couldn’t be called a wall, rather a window stretching from floor to ceiling and although it’s cloudy, it’s daytime. Abigail feels better just knowing her internal clock is correct despite the barracks having had no window at all. The room is a contrast of whites and blacks, it smells sterile but the many papers lying around and filled cabinets give it the lived in feeling that the halls of this place lack. The space seems unnecessarily big, yet that is also fitting.

“Yes... Abigail,” she stretches this, but stays tight-lipped, careful as she eyes the man from where she still stands unmoving by the door. He’s old, older than her parents it seems, sitting relaxed and with a straight back at a dark hardwood desk covered by papers, the monitor in front of him illuminating his face a bit as he turns in his chair toward her.

“Well, don’t just stay there by the door Abby, I would say we have a lot of time but that’s not really the case, is it?” Janson doesn’t continue on with introductions and only when he waves for Abigail to come closer does it occur he’s already given her a nickname.

She doesn’t know if Janson is just impatient by mentioning that they don’t have much time or is making her more aware of her actual position and what will happen, but she walks closer to Janson at a normal pace, affording to cast her eyes out the massive window as her path towards the man leads her closer to it.

It’s not much of a view. With the city comprised of many towers to house as many citizens as they can. Functionable, but it doesn’t strike her as nicely as this office or her camp back home.

Resting her lower back against the edge on the table's wooden surface, she brings her gaze back into the room, flashes a glance at the monitor before quickly sliding over to Janson. Abigail waits to meet the man's eyes, and doesn't hurry Janson when his eyes are still busy looking over her small frame. Despite him sitting, Abigail is still half an inch shorter than him and much tinier in width, but there’s still something Janson deems worthy of looking over many times before unapologetically looking her into the eyes and continuing on, but not without successfully changing the air around them.

It’s a bit hard to listen to Janson speak at first, Abigail’s eyes following the numbers and lines of text displayed on the screen but not taking a too deep interest into it all when it doesn’t make much sense to her. She soon ends up sitting on the table as her legs dangle off the ground when Janson has leaned in close and the space between them has grown even more cramped. His hand rests near enough to be touching her thigh.

At this moment she thinks about attraction. Abigail hasn't known this attraction for long, but enough from a few boys back in her camp to know what it entails. It's suddenly something she can hardly ignore, not when Janson isn't hiding his attraction at all - it's nothing like the beating around the bush some of her previous adorers have tried.

Curiosity draws her in too, she listens to Janson’s voice even if the technical words he's using she doesn’t fully understand. She isn’t afraid to catch his eyes when he turns to her in small moments. Doesn't flinch when his hand _does_ brush her thigh.

Yet she’s simply never seen someone so older than her and the unknown attention tightens an equally unknown feeling in her chest. Her heart's beating fast and she wonders why the feeling is making her more nervous than excited.

“–WICKED cannot house the dozen and more of you - let alone feed you and make you as healthy as everyone in this organization - and the decision was already made to take in only the three best of you... But looking at how closely you still scored, it would be a _shame_ to send you away,” Janson’s full attention is back to Abigail, he's leaned in close and risen from his seat, close enough that his legs brush against her knees as she still sits on the desk, “Normally I wouldn’t do this, but the position of Assistant Director does let me pull some strings, if you’re interested in staying. And willing, of course...”

The city below is right outside the window but Abigail doesn’t need to take a second look at it to know her answer. It wouldn't be far from the truth to say she's even afraid to go out in the world again - it's a lot of nothing out there, she wants to be something.

Abigail also thinks she knows what _willing_ entails, but her jaw freezes past only a few words, “I want to stay– yes! And what you’re asking is– but it’s–”

She doesn’t get to soundlessly move her jaw again in attempts to speak before the world spins for a moment and then her back meets the cold desk and a few papers she’s now lying on. Janson’s still the front and center of what she sees as he howers close above her, his lower body flush, pressed against her and keeping her legs still and spread but not wrapped around him.

“It’s hard to find such beauty like yours nowadays Abby, and in my hands it wouldn’t go to waste,” Janson locks his fingers around her left wrist and Abigail’s breath hitches when his lips run across her neck, stubble scratching her skin in a way that’s almost sensual.

Her breathing is quick as she feels him enjoying his time in the crook of her neck, heartbeat quickening when she feels how warm Janson is pressed against her but she doesn’t initiate any movements back for a while. She has to take deep breaths to just focus her mind, but she’s fine. Her free hand eventually rests in Janson’s hair and pulls the older man in closer, encouraging, but as his other hand slips under her shirt she moves to catch it from going any further.

“How do I know that– that you’ll keep this as a promise?” Abigail swallows, finding it hard to talk with her chest thigh and the proximity is dizzying, having to turn her head to look at Janson is almost too much.

“ _Abby_ , you’ll just learn to trust me on this–” his hand attempts to slide further up her shirt but Abigail holds it in place.

“Marry me,” it slips out breathlessly but Abigail continues with new air in her lungs, “If you can make demands than me too. I don’t care if you’ll have another woman or more aside from me, just as long as you’ll always have me as your first choice and return to me, you can have me.”

Watching Janson raise an eyebrow at that is nerve wracking and so is the silence that ensues, but in time he chuckles almost to himself, “Fine, _fine_. I’ll even get you an actual ring. But I’d still like some proof you’re not backing down upfront now.”

Abigail inhales, listens to his soft voice as he asks, does so nicely enough that she lets herself allow it. She throws her legs around Janson’s waist, locks herself tight around him, her back aching up to completely close the space between them. Entangling both her hands around Janson’s neck and back she pulls him close into a kiss. Janson takes to dominate in their kiss, his lips are a bit dry but his skill makes up for it, or at least the eagerness he catches her bottom lip between his.

It’s hot, dizzying - Abigail has to gasp for air when Janson moves back to now bite down at the crook of her neck yet she still feels like there’s not enough oxygen to breath. Janson maps and runs his hands over her clothed sides, squeezes her butt and pulls her chest even closer to his. She can barely follow how he indulges himself but as much as her head spins she holds on and reciprocates however she can when she thinks he’s growing impatient.

She’s experienced a lot new by the time Janson slows in caressing her and has mapped her form in his mind. Her curiosity from before is far more than satisfied and yet she still feels the tightness in her chest. It doesn’t go away until Janson has a guard escort her to a new room, his room, and walking down the halls to get there it still persists as she thinks it all over.

Abigail’s still lightheaded even as she closes the door behind her to the new, somehow much vaster room, but there’s little she notes there beside it also being a cluster of whites and blacks.

As she slips into the only bed the adjacent rooms have, the smell of cologne from before in Janson's office is even stronger there. Lying on the covers she can feel his hands around her again without imagining too hard and the tightness in her chest is back.


End file.
